Heart, be clean. Fists, be open, numb.
Lovely, let me be wrong in almost every
Thing. That the page is waste, all that rag
Content. That even despairing relentlessly cannot
Spare you what you fear the most.
Gamine, you are growing
Old now; itís your time. If you wait here
For the noises of this night,
They will sound out as the rustling of autumn,
Spiky, dried of unctuous
Airs, blazing like a chestnut horse on fire in
The padlocked barn;
is time it will be time.
Lucie Brock-Broido is the author of A
Master Letters, and Trouble
in Mind. She is the director of poetry in the School of
the Arts at Columbia University.
Originally published in the February/March 2004 issue of Boston Review.